


Making Amends

by odiko_ptino



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 21:49:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odiko_ptino/pseuds/odiko_ptino
Summary: The Trojan War left a mark on the gods too.





	1. Poseidon and Ares

Triton pokes his head into the chamber and announces the visitor that Poseidon already knew was here; a moment later, Ares shuffles in. He looks hangdog and tired and miserable.

“Are we still cool,” Ares mumbles without prelude. His very voice sounds defeated. If Poseidon’s heart was hardened to the boy in any way, it softened entirely at this first look: proud, strong Ares, now slumped over, dark circles under his eyes, still favoring his side.

Poseidon holds out his arm. “Of course we are. Come here, Ares.”

A wave of relief passes over Ares’ face, so obvious as to be painful to witness, and the defeated war god goes over to Poseidon’s side. He begins to take a knee, as is their usual way, but Poseidon forestalls this by standing and pulling Ares into an embrace.

Ares doesn’t even pretend at being too manly for this, he lays his forehead on Poseidon’s shoulder and breathes, deeply in and out, the calming technique Hermes showed him all that time ago.

Poseidon is about to enquire, but Ares speaks first:

“They’re deifying him. Athena won’t shut up about it. She says it’ll happen as soon as he goes home.”

Ahh. Diomedes. Yes, Poseidon has heard this, and can’t say he’s surprised. Diomedes has made quite a name for himself. Of course, it would have been hard not to, when you have as much personal help from Athena as Diomedes did.

Poseidon, as always around Ares, feels his own enmities towards Zeus and Athena roll like the swell and recession of a wave. The swell, as he reflects on how he hates the two of them. They lie, they manipulate, they cheat and hurt, then pretend they’ve done nothing wrong and you’re out of line for being angry.

Then the recession, as his bitterness makes way to pity for Ares. Poseidon hates and loves Zeus, hates and admires Athena. But for all his anger and conflicting feelings, Poseidon is still the lord of the kingdom of the sea, and that is his title and honor forever. Ares is a defeated war god, humiliated yet again.

And this time, the sting is worse. His lover was attacked by a stupid mortal; when he came to see about the upstart little shit, Athena used Hades’ invisibility helm to help the mortal stab Ares - badly. It was barely Diomedes at all.

Then, the words in Zeus’ throne room. The contempt that all of Greece and Olympus feels for this firstborn Prince…

Poseidon presses one hand to Ares back, between his shoulderblades. “Do you need to go through your paces?” He asks softly, referring to their little routine.

“Nah. Not today.” Ares steps back, eyes red but dry. “Too soon. It would be… pretty bitter. I just wanted…. you know. I didn’t want - after everyone else - “ his voice is shaking.

“I know,” Poseidon says. He leads Ares over to his chair. “Did you speak to anyone else yet? Hermes?”

“You were my practice run.” Ares slumps into the chair, wincing and pressing a hand lightly to his side.

“Hermes has missed you.” Another painfully grateful expression of relief. Ares was cut up about that, Poseidon knows. He hated opposing Hermes more than any of the rest of them, including Poseidon himself, probably.

“Ares, Do you intend to stay around a while?”

“I guess not. I wanna get the hell out of here. Go to Thrace a while. Call for Hermes there, maybe…”

“Well, wait a few years? Athena’s other little pet is about to head home. Arrogant little shit has been pissing me off since day one. Let’s fuck him up, eh? I was going to just drown him but let’s blow off some steam.”

For the third time, Ares’ face lights up a little- this time, in a slightly petty anticipation. Inconveniencing Athena? Kicking around one of her blessed humans?

“ _Fuck yeah.”_


	2. Hephaestus and Ares

Ares can’t exactly say that life’s been a peach in the aftermath of the war at Troy, but it’s certainly improved since those dark days.  He’s back on good terms with Poseidon and Hermes; and on improved terms with Apollo since they fought on the same side.  He hasn’t spoken to either of his parents or his half-sister in ten years, but maybe that’s for the best.

The first decade after the war had been mostly spent offering suggestions to Poseidon about how to kick around one of Athena’s slimy little pet mortals, it looks like O-Dick-eus is stuck on Calypso’s island permanently, so Ares turned his attention to a new project.  One of Aphrodite’s sons, a mortal named Aeneas, is looking promising in his adventures in the west, and Ares finds himself taking an interest.  None of the other gods but Aphrodite have checked in on him yet, so it’s comparatively peaceful.

His decent mood evaporates in an instant when an unwanted presence, loaded with ancient tensions and bad history, invites himself to Rome.

“I think it’s time you guys let Odysseus go back,” Hephaestus says, evenly, arms folded over his chest. If it’s meant to be intimidating… it works.  Hephaestus might be lacking in most other physical aspects – his withered legs, his lumpy face – but his arms and shoulders are those of a blacksmith and stonemason and Ares knows from experience that those arms pack a punch.

They cool down his rising temper, though Ares turns away.

“Odysseus isn’t one of your guys.  War’s over; he’s not even one of your fighters now.  No reason to care.  We finally got over all this shit, all these – alliances, fucking us all up all the time.”

Hephaestus doesn’t budge. “We’re not all over it, though, are we.” His voice is flat now.  He sighs.  “Look, I get it.  You’re mad at Athena, you want to take it out on someone, Odysseus is available.  But it’s not going to help – ”

“Why do you  _care_?!”  Ares snarls, Hephaestus’ subtly threatening pose be damned.  “He’s not one of yours!  You don’t have to keep – defending her, we’re not on opposite sides of that fucking war now, okay?  You fucking won, it’s over!”

“Then you should be over it too, yeah?”  Hephaestus isn’t  _quite_  as calm as his voice makes him sound.  His fists are clenching slightly; eyes narrowing.  But in the old days he would have already had his hammer in hand and tried connecting it to Ares’ skull.  He has more patience now than he used to… just like Poseidon.  Evidently winning the war went a long way towards lowering one’s ichor pressure.  

Ares wouldn’t know.

Hephaestus is still talking. “…all weren’t at our best during the war.  Things were done, things were said – ”

 _Things were done, things were said_.  Ares snaps.  “What the fuck would you know about it, you shitty little  _fuck_.  You weren’t rejected by our father in front of everyone, while that  _bitch_  gets away with  _everything – ”_

Hephaestus’ newfound patience wears out.  His fist hits Ares with a force that is estimable, and knocks Ares on his ass,  _hard_ , making him briefly see a vision of Asteria, though it’s midday.  And yet – Ares remembers very well how hard Hephaestus can hit, and this is nothing like it.  It’s a light tap from the blacksmith.

Just enough to make Ares shut up for a moment, and Hephaestus speaks into that moment:

“What the fuck would I know about being rejected by your parent? How it hurts, how humiliating it is? What would I know about Athena being in the same position but being praised for it?  About being betrayed by family?  Knowing Zeus watched you suffer and was unmoved?”

His voice is tighter, but still not shouting, and for the first time Ares feels ashamed.  Of course Hephaestus knows.  An abandoned infant.  Born of one parent.  The debacle of their horrible love triangle, which everyone witnessed, saying nothing, doing nothing.  

Hephaestus, who does not call Zeus ‘father,’ only ‘king.’

Ares pushes himself awkwardly back to his feet, the anger of a moment ago having faded away, leaving only sullen embarrassment.  Hephaestus doesn’t say anything else, though, compelling Ares to pick up the thread. It’s hard to talk about all the ways they’ve hurt each other, so Ares dodges it like a coward and goes with the easier route.  

“Why  _do_  you care, then?  If you got fucked over as much as everyone else.  Why are you sticking up for her still,” he mutters, fidgeting with the hem of his cloak.

“I don’t actually give a shit about the fact he’s Athena’s,” Hephaestus says, finally uncrossing his arms and looking away, not noticing when Ares looks over at him in surprise. “I just feel bad for him. Odysseus… he… misses his wife.  I get that.  I just think it’s sad.”

This is veering into dangerous territory.  “He’s really kind of a dick, you know.  I’d say that even if he wasn’t Athena’s.”

Hephaestus laughs – only briefly, but it breaks a lot of the tension.  “Yeah, well, no one’s perfect but Aunty Hess, right?” he recites the familiar maxim on Olympus.  “He’s a dick who really loves his wife.  I think letting him suffer for literally half his life is punishment enough.”

There’s a certain tone to Hephaestus’ voice that alerts Ares that his half-brother might really have something else on his mind… but Ares is not particularly well-equipped to deal with any problem that can’t be solved with fighting or fucking.  

He kicks at a rock, sullenly and, yeah, a little childishly.  “I guess. I dunno.  I still hate her.  I mean him.”

“You don’t have to love him. Or her.  Just let Odysseus see his wife.”

Again, that tone… “Yeah, fine.  Whatever. I’ll talk to Poseidon.  I mean, I’m only part of Odysseus’ problem, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.  It would just be good of you to help him out is all.”

Later, Ares will hear from Poseidon himself that it had all been decided already – that the rest of the Olympic Council had decided that it was time for Poseidon to give the mortal a break; and after one last defiant gesture, Poseidon had acquiesced to Zeus’ order.  Odysseus was apparently already disguised as an old beggar at the time Hephaestus visited Ares.

So… what the hell was the point of Hephaestus’ little excursion?  If it was already decided, without Ares’ knowledge?  He wonders about it often, uneasily, afterwards.   


End file.
